


Distraction

by Eyrdamun



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Dom/sub, Kink Meme, M/M, October Spoilers, implied december spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 16:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17165660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyrdamun/pseuds/Eyrdamun
Summary: Akira wants Akechi to quiet his mind for him. Just for a little bit, just for a while. He needs rest.





	Distraction

The image of Okumura on live television falling, with black seeping through his tear ducts and eyes won’t leave Akira. The image of his failure haunts him, a cackle that points out how maybe he truly wasn’t meant to lead at all. A mockery that highlights how his doubts had been well founded after all.

It’s Saturday night, and he’s at a loss.

Akira is glad that he won’t need to think at all.

Legs crossed, Akechi sits on his chair. Visage molded into ennui, black leather clad hand propping his head on its knuckle, he stares down with maroon eyes. His other hand on the armrest, fingers ticking down a countdown with no defined end. Time trickles down. Slowly, Akechi blinks. He breaks the silence.

“Kneel.”

He hopes Akechi drives him out of his mind. Out of his body. Even if it’s only for at most a couple of minutes.

The floorboards are cold against his bared knees. They are uncomfortable, but Akira holds his tongue as Akechi studies his form. He is naked save for the dark straps binding his arms in his back and the leather collar at his neck. It’s black, naturally, with a silver ring attached to the front. A ring from which Akechi had hooked his finger and pulled as he ordered him to undress.

“Akech-”

“Silence. My name is too good for your tongue. And only talk if I ask you to.”

Akira’s eyes flicker downwards as the memory leaves shivers down his spine. They end between his legs, half-hardness growing fuller.

“Really?” Akechi’s pleasant voice has a rich timbre. Akira can’t help but bite his bottom lip at how filthily it coats his words. He’s surprisingly good at it, and Akira is so glad he offered. “I’m not even touching you.” Akechi measures his words, pauses with scrutiny. Akira shivers again, gasps when Akechi uncrosses his legs and tilts his head up with the tip of his leather shoes. “You said you wanted to give up control…”

Akira nods. But the motion is denied. The foot holding his head up tilts it higher. Akira swallows loudly.  
  
“But it seems you gave me an incomplete truth.” The foot falls, steps on his chest lightly. Akira finds himself breathing a bit faster, cheeks heating up further. “Did you genuinely think a degenerate like you could get away with lying to a detective?”

Akira shudders and offers a half smile. “I wanted to make you work for my kinks, maybe?”

The pressure of Akechi’s foot increases before falling back and down on Akira’s thigh. The sole of his shoe scrapes against one of his nipples, his spine curves as he gasps lightly. The foot now lies closer to his knee, and there’s nothing out rightly sexual in the way Akechi looks at him but-

“No sassing me, you animal. And what did I say about talking.”

Naked, on his knees in front of the other as he looks down on him?

“Sorry, sir.”

Smiling, Akechi stands with a flourish and circles him. Low and steady footsteps echo like a menace in his ear drums, both a promise and a threat for a good time. Akira’s heart drums harder under his skin.

Leather trails up his nape, snares about his neck. A curse tumbles out of his tongue, like a prayer.

“How unbecoming. Aren’t you supposed to be a leader?” The fingers twitch against his pulse. Akira’s heart pounds against them, beckons their attention so that he may give him more. “You really enjoy this.”

Akechi’s other hand wraps around his hardness. He squeezes, finishes bring it to its full mass as he puffs breath into the shell of his ears and massages his neck. “Disgusting.”

A moan breaks free.

“You aren’t meant to lead, aren’t you?” Neither hand stops its ministrations, but the voice shifts. “Never were- you’re so unremarkable… Can’t even ask to ride me.” Darker, a mockery, it leaves kisses against his ear. “No, you had to go on a roundabout way to ask me to use you. Submit then.”

The hand at his cock stops, the one at his throat bites and then is gone. Akechi steps in front of him again and pulls the chair closer.

“If you do well enough, I’ll reward you,” Akechi says as his voice drips back into honeyed. He sits on the chair again as if it were a throne. “Or maybe not. I’ll see when I get there.”

Akechi loops his pointer in the ring at Akira’s neck. He roughly pulls him forward and his mouth crashes into Akira’s. Their teeth knock together, Akechi hisses, and Akira shouldn’t find it as hot as he does. But he is also naked and tied up, prostrating in front of the detective that swore to catch them and ready to be roughened up.

Akechi kisses him with so much teeth that Akira might as well call it biting. His mouth is ravaged by a wet muscle, and Akira doesn’t bother pretending to put up a fight. He lets Akechi bruise his lips, allows Akechi to pull at his hair to angle his head with more precision than with the collar. He goes with the flow when Akechi breaks the kiss and shoves his head back.

“You’re already panting this hard?” The foot returns, it kicks his thighs apart wider. And for a second, as Akira watched it get closer to his erection, a spike of fear flares in his head. The foot delicately tilts the head of his cock up, as if Akechi were examining a leaf he found on the floor.

Relief crushes down his veins and Akira groans as he watches with Akechi as his cock tears up and drips.

“This is pathetic. I’m doing next to nothing.” The foot pulls back and falls directly between Akira’s parted knees. Akechi huffs. His eyebrows furrowed before smile blooms into his face. Akira can’t quite call it one, if he were honest. Heat fills his body as Akechi’s expression flickers between a mask of interview pleasantness and contempt. “Clean up your mess.”

Akira shudders and curls forward. He makes sure Akechi can see how he first kisses it, and then swipes his tongue over the stain once. Then twice, Akira feels a whimper grow in the back of his throat as something malicious and arrogant, something haughty and scornful, flashes through Akechi’s red irises.

Akechi chuckles, the laughter accentuated by hysterics Akira didn’t know Akechi had in him.

“Seriously? You actually did it?” The detective manages to wheeze out. “How low can you get?” He tears his foot away from his mouth, kicks Akira’s shoulder until he sits up right and digs the foot of his heel on his nipple again. “You genuinely have no shame. You’d do anything for cock, wouldn’t you?”

Akira tries to calm his breathing into something deeper and slower. He tries not to think about how the foot stepping on him fans flames in his core.

“I asked a question, degenerate.”

“Ye-” The heel digs into his chest further. Akira barely manages to catch himself and prop his torso with his tied up hands. “Yes, sir!”

Akira’s eyes don’t tear up, but his cock leaks for him.

Akechi snorts at him, and Akira watches as he undoes his belt. His dick doesn’t stand at full mass yet, it droops a bit in its incomplete hardness. Akira can’t contemplate it for long enough, Akechi shoves his face against his dick and rubs his cheek against it.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted?” Akechi hisses. Akira nods against his crotch. “Then open up your mouth, you ungrateful filth.”

He opens his mouth immediately, he licks a slow heavy strip on the underside of his dick that has Akechi blinking rapidly as he inhales. Akira watches Akechi’s face through half lidded eyes, drinks in the shock written on his face as he brushes his swollen lips delicately against the head. He licks the slit, moans as he savours the taste and Akechi-

Akechi breathes in with eyes squeezed shut. He mutters something that Akira can’t quite catch. So instead, he wraps his lips around the head of the rapidly hardening erection in front of him and sucks.

Two leather covered hands clutching at his curls and a hiss. “You’re depraved trash, aren’t you.” The fingers squeeze again and one moves to the back of his head. “ _I_ dictate the tempo. Did I make myself clear?”

Through a mouthful of dick, Akira nods and looks up to find Akechi’s face split in a wide smirk. Akira does his best to relax his throat.

“Good. Now mind your teeth.”

With that, Akechi begins to thrust forward. Akira hopes that his thankfulness for the telegraphed roughhousing is conveyed through his gaze alone. But he has trouble concentrating as the taste and scent over take his senses. The hands maneuvering his mouth through his curls don’t help at all. They send sparks of electricity down his nerves that discharge on the surface of his skin. He shivers, feels too hot and too cold at once with nothing covering him.

But Akira is versatile, Mementos crafted him into a quick learned, and soon he has the rhythm of the thrusting down. He skillfully breathes to it, hollows his cheeks when he has enough presence of mind to do more than just fill his lungs with oxygen.

And Akechi begins to thrust harder and faster. His cock teases the limits of Akira’s gag reflex. “Can you take more of me in? Are you that needy?” Akira melts, only to tense when Akechi pushes too far. “Oh, look, your body has some semblance of propriety after all.”

As Akechi speaks, his hips slow down and Akira can pull enough of his brain together to notice how one of Akechi’s legs is between his own. He moves.

Only to be pried off Akechi’s cock and shoved back into the floor.  The wood isn’t too hard in the cafe attic, so the thudding noise it made doesn’t concern Akira much. He whines anyway, just out of the sudden emptiness in his mouth.

The same can’t be said for Akechi, who stills and studies him as he catches his breath on the floor.

There’s something in the moment that Akira doesn’t want to linger on. He raises his torso, lips parted and red from Akechi’s use. Hoping the smoulder in his eyes talks for him, he holds his tongue.

“Unbelievable,” Akechi mutters. He follows up louder, “I didn’t give you permission to rut against my leg, you filthy animal. You’re just like a dog. Would you bark if I were to tell you to?”

Staring directly into scarlet eyes, Akira pants still.

“Bark.”

Akira feels another wave of heat course through his body.

“I said bark.”

Akira does. It ends filters into the air like a moan.

“And here I thought you would have some moniker of shame.” Akechi steps on his right thigh, presses it wide open against the ground with an appreciative hum. “Flexible… Of course you are.”

His tone shifts to disgust, but Akira can see the twitch of his cock. His own echoes.

“Where did you put the lube, trash?”

Akira looks up at Akechi, surprised.

“The lube.”

“The- the what?”

Akechi stares at him as if he had just accused him of being the leader of the Phantom Thieves. The detective leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

“The lube. A degenerate like you should be more than well acquaintanced with it.”

Akira stammers. “Oh- I, I don’t-”

“What a farce,” Akechi scoffs. “Were you that focused on thinking with your dick that you didn’t prepare some?”

Akira blushes, embarrassed. He bites his lower lip again, however, as Akechi’s dismissive baritone washes over him.

Akechi sighs, and fetches his bag himself. He takes out the liquid, pours it over his gloves. Akira has questions, but he can’t ask any. Akechi stops, stares at him with a pensive look on his face before he is snatched by his upper arm to his feet. Akechi pushes and shoves him onto the old coffee bench near the wall with little delicacy. His arms dig uncomfortable against his back, but it all turns into heat as Akechi knees his thighs open.

“You’re too careless. Were you seriously about to engage in this without _any_ preparation?” Akechi crowds him against the couch, voice spitting poison against his lips. “You should be grateful that you’re with me.” Wet leathered fingers circle Akira’s entrance, and Akechi’s teeth snap at Akira’s lips. “Or maybe, you admit you don’t deserve this.”

The fingers retreat, trace paths in the inside of his thighs. The touch is too light, way too light compared to the rough handling he was previously facing.  
  
“After all, why should someone like _me_ reward you?” Akechi nuzzles his clavicle, rubs his cheek under Akira’s jaw as his teeth remained beared. “You were less than perfect. Don’t you think I deserve better?”

The fingers are back to circling his entrance with an obscene wet sound. One finger slips and prods it. “Oops.”

Akira whines a wet sound of his own.

“So you don’t think I deserve better?” The finger goes back in line with the others. “Don’t you think I deserve an apology?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

Akira shudders at the contact between his legs. He wants more. He speaks louder and as eloquently as he can when most of his mind is out of commission by a simple pattern traced on his skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” The fingers grow in pressure, they prod but never quite penetrate.

“Yes, yes,” Akira’s speech lowers into mumbles as the finger prods deeper and deeper. “Yes, I’m sorry, I’m- I’m sor-” It’s one phalange in and Akira throws his head back. “I’m sorry…!”

He sounds desperate, apologies spewing from his lips in the form of wanton begging. He almost doesn’t hear Akechi laugh, most of his senses are honed in the spot between his legs where a leather clad digit thrusts in and out.

“God, you’re pathetic.”

The lone finger is soon joined by a second one and teeth work at his neck. Akechi sucks at his pulse suddenly, the two fingers in him clumsily explore him. Akira still moans, shuts his brain off and buckles into the fingers, helps them twist and turn and find new spots inside of him.

He whines when they are two knuckles deep and they brush against something that makes his eyes go momentarily blind.

“You’re the picture perfect image of debauchery,” Akechi hisses as his fingers thrust in harder against Akira’s prostate. “This whole time… Kneeling, humiliated and wanting more of it- and now _this,_ ” Akechi scoffs. “What would anyone say if they found you like this?”

Akira moans loud. A third finger works its way in.

“You disgust me.” Akechi takes a bite of his shoulder, mutters another curse Akira is too distracted to stitch together. “You disgust me _so much._ ”

So he says, Akira moans a breathy laugh as Akechi keeps finger fucking him and a leather gloved hand pinches at his chest.

“You’re so goddamn filthy, so- so average-” Akechi pulls himself away, his hand flies to his cock and slathers it with lube. “So average, and you think you’re good enough for all of this?”

Akira has no idea what he is hissing about. Is he supposed to reply? A moan escapes his throat as he watches and white noise fills his arms.

Akechi must be monologuing. He doesn’t wait for a reply, he sheathes himself inside of Akira, at first moving fast only to slow down like an afterthought. “You don’t deserve me caring. Be grateful.”

Akira nods as he struggles to breathe through the hardness filling him and the dull stretch it brings.

“Be grateful,” Akechi snarls.

“Yes sir, thank you, sir,” Akira manages to grit out.

“Filth.”

“Yeah,” he moans. “I don’t deserve-”

“Shut up.”

“Please.”

Akechi groans into his neck, hips moving surprisingly steadily but slowly. As if he were waiting for Akira to give the go.

“Oh fuck, please…” Akira would willingly give it. He doesn’t want to have to, doesn’t want to call any shots even if this- “Please, please go faster, deeper, anything please.”

Even if it would make sense that Akechi were to wait for it in a situation like this.

“Depraved trash.” Akechi bites his neck again.

“Yeah, exactly, please- just, “ Akira swallows but the moans still fall out of his tongue. “Please, whatever you want, please, just take it.”

Akechi takes a hold of the back of his thighs and brings Akira’s knees to his chest and his calves over Akechi’s shoulder. He begins thrusting with fervor, rough and angry growls escaping the cage of his teeth.

The detective laughs, high and hysterical. “This is more like it, more fitting of someone like you.”

Like an afterthought, the gloved hands leave his legs. One wraps around his throat, the other around the weeping member between his legs, and they squeeze and unsqueeze. The hand at his erection pumps, the leftover lube in it smoothing the process too much Akira fears he’ll melt on the spot. They follow the rhythm of Akechi’s thrusting, the cadence of the words hissed and spat venomously from a honeyed tongue.

With moans and a boneless body, Akira lets himself drown in the moment.

It takes him Akechi’s hips stuttering, the hands flying to clutch at his hips and feeling of suddenly being fulfilled for Akira to notice his eyes had been lidded shut. It takes Akechi cursing over him, vile tongue lashings between Akira’s lips for Akira to notice his cooling release on his chest.

Content, Akira remains just like that. Akechi washes over and in him, and it’s all that matters in the room.

When Akira closes his eyes, he sees nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't even proofread this once. Feel free to point out errors!  
> Link to the fill here : https://personakinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/993.html?thread=28129#cmt28129  
> I took pity on it.  
> This is a bit more vulgar in the way I refer to their genitals than I usually would shrug emoji
> 
> I swear 2 God I dont only write horny
> 
> Edit: I have now given it a glance over


End file.
